


Just Like A Folksong

by jolychetta



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, also so much yearning and pining, background legolas/gimli being smitten boyfriends, drawing from my infinite well of experience for that one, had to do pearl/may because i love lesbians, self-indulgent coffee shop/florist au, they're kind of soulmates but it's not soulmate au, this is why rosie cotton is also a lesbian sorry yall if u don't like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26105359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolychetta/pseuds/jolychetta
Summary: Frodo decides running a café is the best use of his degree. Sam is good with flowers and at being smitten. Frodo is good at being oblivious. A variety of characters are good at making sure they still end up together.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Just Like A Folksong

Bag End café was small, tucked away between a bakery and a big bookstore, but Frodo liked it that way. Most mornings it was empty save him and the occasional early worker getting their coffee-to-go. He spends those mornings idly cleaning tables and admiring the flower arrangements of the florist across the street. Things hadn’t changed much in their little town since he’d left and he liked that, too. It was a comfort he had been missing the past four years, and it was nice to return to. University had been exciting, and he had gotten up to many adventures with Merry - some more regrettable than others, but all of them memorable. But he’d ached throughout all of it, feeling like something was missing, a vital piece to his own peace of mind. He’d felt restless, and only upon returning to his uncle Bilbo’s during term breaks he had felt calmer again. So when Bilbo suggested he take over the café when he retired, instead of doing something supposedly more sensible with his degree, he had agreed happily. He was lucky, being raised by Bilbo, who didn’t think much of the rules of society and felt that being content was the most important goal and if what you did made you content, then it was the right thing to do. It had been harder for Merry to convince his parents, being the only heir of the Brandybuck wine empire. Eventually he had simply left. What exactly had gone down and how his parents had reacted Frodo still didn’t know, but he knew tensions were high and Merry dreaded returning home for Christmas. Still, his parents had come around to the idea of him running Bag End café with Frodo instead of taking over Brandybuck Wines, and they had settled together in the flat above the café. Where Merry went, Pippin wasn’t very far, and so he’d dropped out of his law degree, claiming that it couldn’t teach him anything life hadn’t already taught him, and the three of them had begun the new era of Bag End café together. Of their childhood friendship, only Fredegar had declined to work at Bag End, saying that Pippin might throw away his year of uni, but he certainly wouldn’t give up when he had only a year left. Well, he had always been the most sensible of the four, and Frodo didn’t begrudge him, although he would have appreciated the extra head to reign in Merry and Pippin when they were in one of their more mischievous moods - which was almost always.

Looking at his watch, he sighed. Pippin was supposed to help out this morning, but he had undoubtedly overslept again. When it came to the early morning shifts, Frodo had given up any hope Pippin or Merry would ever show up on time. He didn’t mind, really, especially as he could hold it over their heads to make them feel guilty and leave work earlier if he felt like it. Apart from the early morning hours, he rarely got a quiet moment to himself. Looking out the large front window, he remembered the many hours he used to spend at the florist’s across the street with old Hamfast Gamgee. It had been a long, long time since he’d visited, as he had gone much less as a teenager, but he remembered those quiet hours in the midst of sweet-smelling flowers very fondly. As he turned back to clean the counter, Frodo wondered who was running the florist now. He doubted Hamfast Gamgee was still strong enough to do so every day, but, Frodo thought, he must have had a few children. His memory failed him there, what little he remembered of his childhood was occupied by Bilbo’s stories and his own adventures with his friends.  
He startled when the bell above the door rang, too deep in his own memories. Smiling, he turned around to greet the new customer, a young man with strawberry blond hair. He was handsome, Frodo thought, and looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place why. He must simply have one of those faces, handsome and homely, that reminded people of someone they knew although they had never met him.

“Hello, there! What can I get you?”

\---

Bag End café had been closed for the past few weeks and Sam had begun to assume that old Mr. Baggins had sold the place and moved to Rivendell. It would have been a shame, as he loved the cosy shop and even more so loved Mr. Baggins with his stories and encouraging smiles. So when he saw the ‘Open’ sign out on the door once more, his surprise was quickly replaced by relief. But then, a couple weeks had passed and Bilbo Baggins still hadn’t visited to order the flower arrangements for the shop. Sam and his sister May had begun running the shop instead of their father since he’d had a biking accident the year before and being in the shop every day had become difficult for him. This morning it was only him and May, and it was less busy than usual.

  
“You have any idea why Mr. Bilbo hasn’t come in yet? Bag End’s been open for weeks now and we’ve heard nothing from him.” Sam asked, while preparing a new flower arrangement for outside the shop.

  
“I don’t think old Mr. Bilbo is running it anymore. Seems he’s passed it down to his nephew, you remember him? He’s got that dark hair, used to hang around here a lot when he was younger.”

  
Sam ducked his head, pretending to be quite invested in the flowers, and only threw a vague “Hmm yeah” to May. He remembered Mr. Bilbo’s nephew - Frodo - better than he wished to, the dark hair and blue eyes having occupied many of his dreams when he was a teen, and even now making occasional appearances.

  
“Sam, you listening?” May’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts abruptly.

  
“Huh? What’d you say?”

  
“I said maybe you should go over, say hi, ask if he wants to order some arrangements as Mr. Bilbo used to. It can’t hurt to regain an old customer.”

  
This was how Sam found himself across the street at Bag End café, robbed of his words. The owner of the café smiled at him welcomingly, as if he was just another customer and, Sam realised, he must seem like one. Frodo didn’t recognise him, which didn’t surprise him, but it stung nonetheless. No longer a fresh-faced teen, Frodo had grown somehow more handsome than Sam remembered him, and he found it difficult to remember why he had come here, if not to gaze upon the face that had occupied so many of his thoughts over the years. Flowers, he reminded himself, he was here for flowers.

  
“Pardon, Sir, my name’s Sam, I’m not here for...well, you see I’m from the florist across the street because, you see, old Mr. Bilbo - sorry, Mr. Baggins, he used to order flower arrangements from us for many years and we - my sister, and I that is, we were wondering…” He fell silent, uncomfortably aware of his stuttering and the colour creeping onto his cheeks. Frodo, however, kept looking at him expectantly, and so he tried again.

  
“Well, we were wondering if you’d like to keep doing so? No problem if not but we didn’t know if…”

  
He was cut off by Frodo’s loud exclamation. “Oh my god, yes, please! I can’t believe I forgot, I’m really so sorry, it slipped my mind in all the...you’re one of Hamfast’s sons, then? I’m Frodo, Frodo Baggins, I’m Bilbo’s nephew.” Sam nodded, overwhelmed by the friendly reply. Frodo did remember the Gamgees, then, just not him.

  
“Pleased to meet you.”

—-

And like that, they fell into an easy routine. Every other day, Sam delivered flower arrangements to Bag End café. Frodo accepted them with a smile and placed the next order. Sometimes he’d ask about Sam’s dad, or his sister. Sometimes, Frodo wasn’t there and Sam met Merry (he remembered him, too, but only as one of those vague faces that were Frodo‘s friends who followed him everywhere). Sometimes, May delivered the flowers instead of Sam and if Frodo‘s smile was a little less bright those days, well, no one had to know about that. But today was not one of those days.

  
It was a rainy Monday morning, the kind of rainy that’s not entirely committed to being rainy and so just ends up being slightly clammy and uncomfortable. It was Sam’s least favourite weather because it makes it impossible for him to commit to anything, too. It’s not bad enough to justify staying inside all day watching Netflix while the rain patters against the windows, but it’s not good enough to make being outside comfortable, let alone spending all day at work where customers become less amiable. But he got to see Frodo, so he pulled his jacket tight around him, and took the crate of flowers to take across the street. He’d decided on a yellow-and-white theme, because yellow flowers always made him smile on rainy days and he thought Frodo might appreciate them. His crush on Frodo had not mellowed out after the years he barely saw him, but instead seeing him almost every day had made it all the more intense. He liked his little chats with Frodo, although they never talked about much beyond pleasantries. Sam felt too awkward to strike up more conversation, all too aware of his feelings that he didn’t know how to make sense of. When Frodo had left for university, Sam had decided to put those confusing feelings away in a far-off box in his mind, somewhere it wouldn’t come up again. He’d had a girlfriend for a couple years, which had gone well, and when he’d had any feelings for another guy, they were never deep enough to make it necessary for him to deal with them. Not until Frodo had returned, when he’d looked at Sam with those blue eyes and that warm smile which always kept something hidden just beyond view, like if Sam reached out just a little further, he’d find something that would surprise him.

  
These thoughts were running through his mind when he stepped into Bag End café and sighed a quiet sigh of relief when he saw Frodo. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Merry, it was just that, well, he wasn’t not Frodo.

  
“Hello there, Mr. Frodo, I’ve brought the flowers. I hope you like them, thought maybe the yellow would be nice on such a dreary day.” Frodo’s responding smile made his heart flutter in a familiar way. Familiar, and dangerous.

  
“Oh, Sam, I’ve told you, you can just call me Frodo. But thank you, these are beautiful. Mind giving me a hand setting them out?” Frodo always asked, although he must know Sam would never decline.

  
“I’m afraid it would feel wrong not to call you Mr. Frodo. It’s only polite with customers, you know.” He smiled and started putting flowers on the tables. Frodo stood watching him for a minute, seeming pensive. Sam had always liked Frodo’s pensive moods, when he’d get all quiet and look into nothingness, but you could see the cogs in his brain working, his imagination running high. He’d always been very smart, and from what he’d hear from Mr. Bilbo, he had done very well at university. So it was a little unsettling, having Frodo look at him that way, but he decided to let it be.

  
“Would you like some tea, Sam? Or a coffee? I feel bad making you walk over here in that weather.” Frodo’s voice startled him.

  
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose, but thank you.”

  
“Nonsense, Sam. This is a coffee shop after all, and there’s none but you here. Tea or coffee?”

  
“Tea, please, if you don’t mind.”

  
They worked in silence for a little bit, until Sam had arranged every flower to the smallest detail, and didn't know what to do with himself anymore. Lucky for him, Frodo came over to the table he’s pretending to be busy at, setting down two cups of tea.

  
“There you go, I hope you like it.”

  
Sam smiled. “I’m sure it’s perfect, Mr. Frodo. Mr. Bilbo always made it just perfect.”

  
“Well, then, I hope I can meet his standards.” With this, Frodo fell quiet, and Sam took his cue to do the same. He picked a little at the yellow tulips on the table, remembering distantly when May told him they stand for unrequited love, in one of her phases when she was pining for a straight girl. They seemed somewhat too fitting now that he was in a similar situation, although not the same. Looking across at Frodo, who was sipping his tea and looking out the window, he wondered if maybe this was what unrequited love felt like. The morning light framed Frodo’s hair like a soft halo, and Sam’s heart ached. It did a lot of that these days, when he lay awake at night pondering the what-ifs and the why-nots. Being near Frodo was both the cause and the cure for his aches, an inescapable dilemma. He wished sometimes that he’d never returned, but the thought of not being around him was even worse. Cursing his feelings for Frodo was like cursing the moon for existing: What right did he have to not want something so beautiful, so gentle, so bright? And yet, he wished it wasn’t so. He wished his connection to Frodo wasn’t pending on his yearning for something more, that Sam could see him as simply another customer, an acquaintance at most. Before he fell too deep into such thoughts, he decided to strike up conversation again.

  
“What brings you back here then? Pardon me, it’s just that last I heard from Mr. Bilbo you’d graduated top of your class and I, well, I assumed you’d go to some big city and all that…”

  
Frodo only smiled. “That wasn’t for me. I’ve always been most content when I’m here.”

  
“Really?” Sam immediately blushed, realising how his surprise might be taken the wrong way. “It’s only because Mr. Bilbo always seemed drawn away, I really wasn’t surprised at all when he took up and left, you know.”

  
“Oh, you don’t have to justify yourself to me. I’m not surprised you made that assumption, but...no, I’m not as adventurous as Bilbo...anymore”

  
“That’s good...I like this place, was sad to see it close. Just isn’t the same round here without Bag End, if you get what I mean.”

  
At this, Frodo smiled, and nodded. “Yeah, I get you.” He paused. “Why don’t you come here more often, then? I’ll make sure you get an employee discount, too...Pippin might forget, but just say you deliver the flowers, and he’ll get it right...probably.” A small frown appeared on Frodo’s face, but it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. Sam wondered what had brought it on: Offering him to visit more often, or Pippin’s forgetfulness.

  
“That sounds great, thank you, Mr. Frodo.”

  
“And tell your sister, too, of course, if she’d like.”

  
“I will! Thank you, that’s kind of you.”

  
“Nonsense, it’s only right.” And with that, Frodo gathered their empty cups and carried them behind the counter. Sam remained at the table, wondering at the turn of events on this rainy day. Maybe he’d come to like rainy days after all, if all of them brought such pleasant change.

\---

An hour after Sam left, Merry came bursting into the café, out of breath and rain dripping from his hair.

  
“Sorry, sorry, I know! I overslept and the weather, y’know…” He trailed off, his face showing only the smallest signs of apology. Frodo sighed, and continued making drinks for the small group of people gathered at the table in the back. They had come in with Legolas, who had taken a fancy to becoming an influencer in recent months. His current companions were equally...influencer-y, so Frodo took extra care to make their drinks look pretty and elaborate. He wasn’t sure he had succeeded, but he knew Legolas wouldn't mind. After bringing the group their drinks and being, admittedly, proud at their happy exclamations about how wonderful this will look on their stories, he told Merry to take over and retreated into the backroom. Their break room was small, but sufficient, especially as none of them were very tall. It was big enough for Frodo to sit down with a book and a cup of tea for half an hour and ignore whatever mishaps were undoubtedly happening out front. While Merry wasn’t as clumsy as Pippin, he had a tendency to overestimate himself and do something very stupid in an effort to show off in front of their friends who made up most of their customer base.

  
Today, though, Frodo couldn’t seem to focus on his book. Every time he tried to read, he found himself instead staring blankly at the page and his thoughts straying. Straying, to be specific, to earlier this morning when he had offered Sam tea and then - and this made him cringe - asked him to come over more often. It seemed stupid, in retrospect, although at the time it had seemed like the greatest idea he’d ever had. He had found that he enjoyed the quiet companionship he had with Sam, working or drinking tea quietly, each in their own world but doing it together. It was something Frodo didn’t get much anymore, since Bilbo left, and as much as he loved his friends, they weren’t the quiet types most days. Talking to Sam was different, and not only because they hadn’t known each other all their lives, although somehow it felt that way to Frodo. In the past couple weeks Frodo had found that talking to Sam was more comfortable even than Bag End itself, even though they rarely said much. It was something about the way Sam spoke in his low, soft way; something about the way he’d smile and the way that smile would reach the tips of his ears; something about the way he’d look at Frodo, listening intently as if he was telling one of Bilbo’s stories even if he was just talking about the kind of coffee they used. Once again, he found himself staring at a page blankly instead of reading. It was pointless - his brain seemed set on analysing every detail of this morning’s conversation, wondering if Sam thought him weird for returning to this town or was freaked out by Frodo’s awkward attempts at building a friendship. He’d never been very good at that, his anxious thoughts making it impossible to carry easy conversation with anyone without overthinking every detail hours later. He’d become a little better at covering up his nervousness in person, a result both of being friends with a certain type of much more extroverted people and of his year abroad at university which had forced him out of his comfort shell almost constantly. But sometimes, there was nothing he could do but indulge his brain’s obsession of nitpicking every word he said to people and then distract himself with work or books. On the worst days, he would get Merry to build him a blanket fort and they'd cuddle and watch all of his comfort films. It was a good system.

  
But right now, he’d prefer if he could read his book without thinking about freckles on a tan nose or strawberry blond curls. There was little point though. He sighed, and decided his break was over. Upon returning to the café, he regretted that decision immediately. For reasons unknown to Frodo, Merry was standing on the shoulders of Legolas’s new boyfriend with a polaroid camera in his hand. Legolas himself was standing on a chair, still taller than the two men stacked on top of each other, his coffee in one hand and a yellow tulip in the other, looking off dreamily to the nonexistent horizon. The procedure looked complicated and a recipe for disaster, but Frodo had stopped questioning his friends’ antics long ago. And so he only watched as Merry lost balance, deemed Legolas the nearest stable hold, and in the process toppled them both over. Legolas’s boyfriend, to his credit, stayed standing, and grinned down mockingly at the pile of limbs before him. Frodo decided that he liked this guy very much.

\---

After this day, Frodo and Sam’s easy routine expanded to include even the days Sam wasn’t working. He came into Bag End café every morning for his tea, and if no other customer was in, Frodo sat down with him, and they talked. Sam told Frodo about his family - his dad’s reluctance to admit that he was getting older and the nightmare of sharing a flat with May and Marigold who were complete opposites of each other. He taught Frodo about flowers and other plants, about their meanings and how to best tend for them to keep them happy and alive. Frodo talked about Bilbo, often recounting the stories Sam had already heard, but adding ones less adventurous and heroic, too: about that time Bilbo had almost electrocuted himself with a fork or when he attempted to teach Frodo how to fix a bike tire before realising they were both hopeless at it, grease smeared across both their faces. Frodo also talked about university and his friends, of which he seemed to have many, a group calling themselves the fellowship of the ring - the origin of the name remains secret, though, which Sam didn’t mind, suspecting something very illegal or very stupid or most likely both.

  
It was on one of their quiet days of conversation that for the first time Sam is uncomfortable - genuinely uncomfortable, not nervous - in Frodo’s presence. Not to any fault of Frodo’s, of course, but because of the turn their conversation took and the truths it forced him to confront later, alone in his room.  
“Your ex came in yesterday,” Frodo said, more casually than Sam thought anyone should, “She seems very lovely. You’ve not mentioned her before.”  
Sam wondered if it was possible for him to go any more red. “I, uh, well, it didn’t...come up?” Not exactly a lie, but not the truth either, since they had discussed almost every detail of the past few years at this point. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his former relationship, or that it had ended badly. On the contrary, him and Rosie remained good friends.

  
“Oh. Well, that’s fair.”

  
“We’re friends. I mean, I don’t want you to think badly of her. We just realised we worked better as friends. That and...she’s kind of a lesbian? I mean, she is. Ah, but that’s not my place to discuss…”

  
“I figured she wasn’t straight when she kissed her girlfriend.” Frodo laughed, and Sam felt silly for making such an awkward thing of it. People had exes, and so did he, and so probably did Frodo. He didn’t know why he hadn’t wanted Frodo to know about Rosie. They’d probably be great friends, if given the chance, and maybe Sam should make that happen. But, he realises with a pang of jealousy, what if they became better friends than him and Frodo? He shouldn’t even be thinking of himself as Frodo’s friend, he was just the florist who delivered his flowers. Frodo didn’t remember him, and that should say all.

  
“Yeah, it was a rough time for her. She’s happy now though, and I’m glad for her. I think she talked to May a lot back then...I was just kind of oblivious.”

  
“You? Oblivious? You’re the most observant person I know!” Frodo seemed genuinely baffled at Sam’s statement.

  
“Well...pardon me, but you don’t hang around with the most observant people, do you?”

  
Frodo laughed. “No, I suppose I don’t. Speaking of the devil…” The door of the café opened, and in rushed a hurried Merry and Pippin.

  
“Sorry, Fro-”

  
“Yeah, yeah, I know! Get to it, I’ve got to take inventory.” He shot Sam an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’m way behind. Bilbo was much better at the paperwork, although his never makes any sense. See you tomorrow?” Sam gave a nod in agreement, and Frodo left him to his thoughts.

  
He liked how him and Frodo had become closer, and if it was anyone else he’d call them friends. He never felt stupid or unimportant during their conversations, with Frodo sitting across listening attentively and asking questions about gardening, Sam’s life, and his love for stories. When Sam brought up he’d been thinking about enrolling in night classes at the local university, Frodo hadn’t dismissed it as a silly idea like Sam had expected him to, having been dismissed for his aspirations by others most of his life. He’d been looking at classes since, slowly gathering the courage to put together an application.

  
But it wasn’t just this that made him appreciate his budding friendship with Frodo so much. There was the equally important issue of the way his heart would flutter at the thought of Frodo, as it had done very few times before in Sam’s life. The heart flutter, the constant blushing and stuttering, the pit in his stomach that seemed to be filled with nervous bees, the way he had memorised every little detail of Frodo’s face: It wasn’t anything new to Sam, but it was new because it was Frodo. Because it wasn’t a girl, and because this time he couldn’t avoid the issue. Because it wasn’t just anyone, it was Frodo, and Sam was beginning to realise that he’s always loved him, as long as he’s known him. Sometimes, in the most quiet hours of the night when he’s lying awake to the tune of his thoughts, he imagined what would happen if he told Frodo, and found that Frodo felt the same. His hands imagined what it would be like to hold Frodo’s, to brush his thumb across his cheek, to thread his fingers through Frodo’s soft curls. His arms imagined holding him close to his chest, wrapping around Frodo in bed early in the morning, or carrying him when he’s had a little too much to drink. His eyes imagined looking into Frodo’s eyes and having his gaze held, losing himself in the ocean blue of Frodo’s eyes, memorising every pigment of them. His mouth imagined...most often things that make Sam blush to think about in the morning, embarrassed that he’d even considered them. But sometimes, he imagined placing soft, light kisses on Frodo’s forehead to reassure him that things would be okay. Or kissing his hand to ask him to dance, and then laughing when they both turned out to be terribly at it.

  
He had lost more sleep than he’d like to admit, spending countless hours in this imagined world of his, and never daring to take it outside of the private hours of the night. But he didn’t account for the fact that every time he saw Frodo, it became more difficult to keep the thoughts at bay, to lock them away as he had done before. He’d have to admit it one day, sooner or later, even if it was only to himself. Sighing, he drained the last of his tea, and made to leave, when he was promptly pushed down in his chair again by none other than Merry Brandybuck.

  
“...uh?” Before he could get out a proper sentence, he was shushed by the other man, now sitting where Frodo had sat before.

  
“Listen, Samwise, Sam, my dear pal, buddy. You’re quite close with our Frodo and we, that is, Pippin and myself, we think it’s a shame that we barely know this new buddy of his, and,” he kept talking over Sam’s beginning protestations, “we would love to get to know you. And you’re in luck! There’s nothing better for making new lifelong friends than a houseparty, and we just so happen to be having one this very weekend!”

  
“We...as in you and Mr. Pippin?” Sam offered hesitantly, and was met by a quizzical look from Merry, replaced quickly by his warm smile.

  
“No, silly. Me and Frodo. And Pippin, but he doesn’t technically count because he doesn’t live at our flat...officially.”

  
“Right.”

  
“So, are you coming?”

  
“I...I’ll think about it?”

  
“Brilliant! We live just above here, Saturday at 8, but don’t be on time!” Merry began to leave, but returned quickly. “Oh, and bring your sister, we’re trying to set up Pippin’s sister.” And with that, Sam was left alone at the table again, somehow even more confused than he was before. He’d seen the charm of Merry at work before, but never on himself, and it was overwhelming at best and unsettling at worst. Still, a party didn’t sound too bad, especially if he could convince May to come too.

\---

“I’m sorry, you did what?!” Frodo shouted from the kitchen, his hands full with last-minute groceries in preparation of their party later that night.

  
“Invited Sam to the party.” Merry replied from the sofa, where he was engaged in an intense Mario Kart battle with Pippin. Pippin nodded in sage agreement, and promptly blue-shelled Merry.

  
“Oh, fuck you, Pip! Not fair!”

  
Frodo dropped the remaining groceries on the kitchen table, and stomped into the living room, scene of the vicious battle: “Merry; I’m serious - MERRY! Can you please listen for once!”

  
“What, Frodo?”

  
“Why did you...why would you DO that?” Perhaps he was sensing the rising frustration in Frodo’s voice, but Merry paused the game and looked up.  
“Because...I thought he’s your friend? Isn’t he?”

  
“No, I mean, yes, he is...I think he is, but that doesn’t mean you can just...just spring this on him! And on me!” Frodo decided the groceries could wait and placed himself between his friends on the sofa. “I just…I don’t want him to be scared away. Or see me drunk and decide I’m a terrible person. Or to meet someone he likes better! We have too many nice friends! Merry, what if he finds a better one than me?”

  
Pippin placed a reassuring arm on Frodo’s back and began to rub it in calming circles. “We just want to get to know him. He seems so nice and you’re already such good friends and, well...he doesn’t really talk to us much, so we thought…”

  
“I’m sorry we didn’t ask you before, Frodo,” Merry cut in, “but we really didn’t mean anything bad by it. We just wanted to include him.”

  
Frodo sighed and let himself fall in Merry’s lap. “I know. I shouldn’t have yelled, I just don’t want to scare him away.”

  
“He’s not a stray cat, Frodo.” Merry said, and began petting his hair.

  
“Yeah, ‘cos I’m already the resident stray cat! He can’t take that from me!”

  
“Nah, Pip, you’re, like, a little rat. Or one of those angry tiny dogs. Or a weird hamster. You know, like the one Boromir has? You’re like that one.”

  
“The one who ate all my cheese in one night??”

  
“Exactly. One and the same, really.” Frodo smiled at his friends’ playful banter, his anxiety appeased a little, and quietly decided he would simply blame Merry if anything went wrong and scared Sam away.

  
“Merry, did you ask Sam to bring his sister? Pearl’s been on my ass for a week to get that cute girl from her healthcare seminars to come, and if she asks one more time I might go full feral.”

  
“Yeah, I did. You sure it’s her though?”

  
“Gamgee can’t be a popular name, right? And she said she’s seen her at the café a couple times.”

  
“Ah, well...we’ll see. We really gotta get Pearl a girlfriend, she’s more infuriating than Frodo when he doesn’t realise he’s in love.” They both gave Frodo a pointed look.

  
“Okay, one time, it was one time! I was a little baby gay!”

  
“Uh-huh, sure, Frodo-babe. You gonna unpack the rest of the groceries?” Merry jabbed Frodo’s side with a bony finger.

  
Frodo grabbeds the Wii remote, and burrowed further into the sofa. “Nah. You’ve caused me an emotional crisis, you do it.” With a swift jab, he pushed Merry off the sofa and unpaused the game. “I’ll be busy kicking Pippin’s ass.” And that he did, until was forced by Merry to help clean up before the party.

  
Once people started arriving, Frodo forgot his last remaining reluctance about having a party. These were his friends, and since he had left uni he’d seen much less of most of them than he was used to. Sometimes he forgot how much he needed to be around people, and he was glad he had people in his life who made sure this part of him didn’t come short. The party was meant to be a house-warming party, but had to be pushed back to accommodate for everyone, and he knew immediately it had been worth it. In a corner, he spotted Legolas trying to explain the concept of influencers to Aragorn, but he seemed to have only just managed to make him understand how Instagram works. Gimli was looking at his boyfriend with unending adoration, and Frodo reckoned that this one really would stick around, and he was glad. Legolas needed someone like Gimli. In another corner, Merry and Eomer were losing a drinking challenge to Eowyn and Arwen, who were being cheered on by Faramir, and not far off Pippin appeared to be engaged in a heated debate with Boromir. Under a pile of blankets in the living room, he found Fatty, already passed out.

  
An hour later, a very drunk Merry told him that everyone expected had arrived, and Frodo should probably go look for Sam to make sure he didn’t feel lost. He then proceeded to join Pippin and Boromir, and tackled them both into a hug.

\---

Sam had been at Frodo and Merry’s flat less than an hour, and he'd already lost May. Shortly after they’d arrived, his sister had been dragged by a curly-haired girl speaking at impossible speed. He only caught a few words from which he gathered she was taking the same part-time course as May. From her fast speech, dirty blonde curls, and abundant freckles, he wondered if this was Pippin’s sister Merry had mentioned. But despite losing May so quickly, he didn’t feel uncomfortable or out of place. He’d had, at most, half an hour of feeling awkward, trying to make forced small-talk with people whose names he immediately forgot, but then he was spotted by Pippin, who requested his opinion on a debate he was engaged in. Sam’s initial worry about giving advice to Pippin quickly faded when he realised the content of the debate: His debate partner, Boromir, had a hamster who, allegedly, had devoured all of Pippin’s cheese stock in one night last year. This was devoutly denied by Boromir, who claimed Pippin had eaten it all in a drunk mood with Merry and Frodo, and just had a grudge against his hamster.

  
“You just hated her because I give her more attention! She never did anything wrong in her life.”

  
“She bit through our cables.” Pippin countered, backed up by a drunken “Hm yeah that was fun” from Merry who was draped across his lap, being fed crisps by both Boromir and Pippin.

  
“Okay, she did one wrong thing in her life.”

  
“She keeps storing all her food in her house and gets stuck because she tries to stuff it all in her cheeks and is too big to get out!”

  
“Well, that’s not a crime!”

  
“And neither is trying to climb her wheel and being too dumb to understand that it, like, moves and she can’t climb...a wheel.” Merry interjected.

  
“She pees on Frodo’s bed. A lot! She frequently steals Merry’s pencils. She tried to sleep in my hair. My hair, Boromir.”

  
“Well, it does look like a nest…” Merry giggled, and promptly had several crisps shoved in his face by Pippin.

  
“Sam, what do you think?”

  
“...You’re holding a grudge against a hamster?”

  
“She’s the devil, Sam. She ate mushrooms off Frodo’s plate. Mushrooms. Frodo.”

  
Sam gasped in faked, but partially real, shock. “How dare she!”

  
“Exactly, ex-act-ly!!!! You understand!! It’s an act of, of, of…” Pippin was jabbing a finger in Sam’s direction to emphasise his point. Which point, Sam wasn’t sure.  
“...treason?”

  
“Yes! Backstabbing! Treason! Devouring my cheese and Frodo’s mushrooms! Do you understand what’s at stake here?”

  
Eventually, the debate settled, not much due to an agreement being made but because this was, like many things, only an argument made in jest, an inside joke that continued perpetually between two people who knew each other well enough to press each other’s buttons, but never too far. Despite only interjecting a few times, Sam felt comfortable, like he was being included in a ritual of friends. Pippin began to tell elaborate stories of their childhood, occasionally elaborated on by Merry. There were tales of stealing mushrooms at the local farmer’s market and Bilbo dragging young Frodo back to pay for them, because “You should only steal from those who have much, not nice farmers like Mr. Maggot!” (this is how Sam found out Pippin could do a brilliant impression of Bilbo), and countless stories of pranks played on Bilbo’s relatives, the Sackville-Bagginses, who’d wanted for years to bring Bag End café into their coffee shop chain.

  
“Remember when we used to come into your dad’s shop, Sam? We’d drag you out to play with us when one of us was away and…”

  
“Oh, yeah, when...when, like, remember we built that house? In the woods by your house, Pip, and Sam decorated it with flowers and we showed it to Fro when he came back and he almost cried,” Drunk Merry, Sam realised, was much less eloquent than and yet equally charming as sober Merry. He did, in fact, remember that day, and every other time the group of young boys had asked if Sam could play with them and he had begged his father to let him. It hadn’t happened a lot, but Sam remembered those times fondly, and was surprised that Merry and Pippin seemed to as well.

  
“You cried making it, Mr. Merry, if I remember correctly. Something about...the trees being hurt if we take their branches?” He was met with feigned shock, and laughed.

  
After this, Sam settled comfortably into the atmosphere of drunken banter and easy conversations. This was something he knew, even though he didn’t know most of the people here, and it was made easier by the people present. Many of Frodo’s friends, much like Frodo himself, had a knack for making anyone feel comfortable and, if they didn’t, they were weird enough for Sam to feel easy in their presence. All of them, somehow, seemed to know who Sam was, exclaiming either to have seen him at Bag End before, or to have been at Gamgee’s Flowers to buy a bouquet for their boyfriend (this one, specifically, was Gimli, who had stared deeply into Sam’s eyes while saying this). He was handed drink after drink, as well as the occasional water by a woman called Arwen, and was fed handfuls of snacks by Merry and Pippin.

  
Eventually he ended up on the sofa, considering his state of drunkenness and deciding he was solidly between ‘comfortably tipsy’ and ‘one more drink and I’ll cry about plants’ which was generally a good state to be in at this time of the night. The sofa cushions were soft and warm, and as he sunk into them he thought he might fall asleep if he wasn’t careful. He felt the familiar tingle of being drunk in the tips of his fingers, considering each one of them. Sometimes, he thought about the marvels of existence, of the many coincidences that had to happen to bring him into this world and allow him to enjoy its treasures. His brother used to tease him about his bouts of philosophising, calling them silly fancies at most, but he enjoyed thinking about the things most people took for granted. A tree, for example, like the one that stood a few houses down from Bag End café: an old maple which had existed long before Sam did, and would continue to do so long after he’d died. It comforted him to consider this, although most people seemed to feel daunted by it because it reminded them of their own mortality, maybe.  
Across the room, he spotted Frodo talking to Pippin and Merry, who seems to have sobered up a little, as well as another guy who he vaguely remembers being called...Fred? The conversation seems oddly serious in the midst of lighthearted banter and drunken half-assed debates. For a moment he thought Frodo looked over at him, but the gaze was gone as soon as he noticed, so he convinced himself he imagined it. He realised that most of the conversation had lulled as the night drew later, and guessed it must be approaching at least 2am, and soon people would begin to leave or fall asleep. Frodo made his way towards Sam, and he felt his heart flutter. Apparently his feelings didn’t change in the slightest under the influence of alcohol. He’d really have to talk to May about this.  
“You enjoying yourself?” Frodo let himself fall next to Sam on the sofa.

  
“Yeah...your friends are weird. Good weird.”

  
Frodo laughed. “Yeah, they are. They like you.” He put his arm on the back of the sofa, behind Sam, whose heart continued fluttering at increasingly alarming speed.

  
“Hm, glad they do. They’re so different than they look, if that makes sense. They all seem so...smart. Or, like, put together. But they’re really just a bunch of nerds, aren’t they?” This, again, elicited a laugh from Frodo. Sam felt it vibrate quietly in his chest and realized just how close they were sitting.

  
“They are, Sam. Guess that’s why they like you so much.”

  
“You calling me a nerd, Mr. Frodo?”

  
“I am, Sam. It’s a term of endearment. And you don’t need to call me Mr. Frodo.”

  
Sam smiled. “I know, Mr. Frodo. It’s a term of endearment.” That, and if he stopped doing so he feared he’ll pour out everything else, too.

  
“Okay, then, Sam. If you like it.” Sam felt a hand combing softly through his hair, and a quiet noise came up his throat. It was comforting, like a hot cup of tea and a fluffy blanket on a cold winter day.

  
“If y’keep doing that I’ll be falling asleep right here…”

  
“That’s fine, Sam.”

  
The hand kept petting his head, and Sam felt himself dropping off. He was still buzzed, and as the party was winding down there were murmured conversations around the room and goodbyes being said softly. Someone was snoring in a corner not far from them, and a door slammed shut, followed by a string of quiet curses. There was the clink of glasses being collected and the soft rise and fall of Frodo’s chest and Sam was more content than he had been in years. For this one night, he thought, he could pretend that this is the right thing to do - to be - to fall asleep in Frodo’s arms. It felt right, somehow, like he’d done it a hundred times, and he decided not to think about it too hard tonight. He drifted off to sleep, burrowing deeper into Frodo’s arms, and missed the way Frodo‘s eyes widened and his breath caught for a moment. He missed Frodo gently removing himself and lying Sam down on the sofa. He missed Frodo drawing a blanket over him and placing a soft kiss on his head.

  
The next morning, Sam woke up to a quiet flat. Across the room, he saw Merry and Pippin piled atop each other on the other sofa. He wondered for a moment why they didn’t sleep in Merry’s room, but someone else had probably fallen asleep there and, if he knew anything about the two, they had the ability to sleep anywhere. In a corner he spotted a pile of blankets and pillows that looked suspiciously much like Frodo’s friend (Freddie? Fatty? He wasn’t sure) was buried beneath them. Sam stretched his weary limbs and quietly made his way into the kitchen. If there was anything he was good at, it was making a breakfast capable of curing any hangover ills, so he put on some coffee and got to work. A little while later he found out who had monopolised Merry’s room when the door opened and May emerged, followed by a girl he thinks must be Pippin’s sister. He recognised her from the previous night as the girl who had immediately dragged May away, and now he understood why. His own sister went red faced when she spotted him in the kitchen, undoubtedly trying to come up with some excuse. Sam just smiled and slid a cutting board across the counter.

  
“I’m more observant than you think, you know. Cut up some of these mushrooms, if you like, Mr. Frodo loves them in his eggs.”

  
And just like that the awkwardness faded and Sam, May, and Pearl - as he found out she’s called, who was indeed Pippin’s sister - prepared breakfast while chatting comfortably. One by one, the rest of the sleeping inhabitants were roused by the smell of scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee, and began curiously wandering into the kitchen. They were just settling into the living room with their plates and mugs when Frodo emerged from his room too, wandering into the kitchen at May’s direction to get himself what remained of breakfast. Sam had made sure Merry didn’t steal all of the mushrooms.

  
“So, May, you’ve taken pity on my sister then?” Pippin asked with his mouth full. Pearl shot him a murderous glance, but he just grinned.

  
“What? D’you expect you can take up together in Merry’s room and we wouldn’t notice? I was gonna wake you but Merry was too scared to face the wrath of May.” He earned himself a jab in the ribs from Merry for that one, but even that didn’t deter his good mood. Sam continued to be baffled by the youngest of Frodo’s friends, whose cheeriness seemed never to fade, no matter the situation. From conversations the night before, he’d gathered that Pippin had dropped out of university, and that it couldn’t have gone down very well with his parents, who were famous lawyers, but Sam would never have guessed any of this from the way Pippin behaved. Even now, very hungover from the previous night, he was smiling and chattering, one hand in Merry’s and the other unceasingly shoveling food in his face.

  
Frodo returned, much more mellow than Pippin, placing himself next to Merry, and so as far away from Sam as possible. It was odd to Sam, who had gotten used to their comfortable closeness, but with a painful pang memories from the night came back to him. No doubt he had made Frodo uncomfortable, cuddling up to him like that and falling asleep on him, and he only hoped he continued business with their shop. But their friendship, their newfound closeness, Sam had little hope it would continue as it had. He had to settle with the little time he got, and be content with it. He wasn’t sure he could, though.

\---

The next day came faster than Frodo liked it to. Saturday night was still overwhelmingly on his mind, replaying and re-analyzing everything that had happened, and it had robbed him of his sleep most of the night. After Sam had fallen asleep on him, he had tried to sleep but it had been impossible. First, it was only that moment that played on his mind, but then he began to think about what he’d found out just before it, when Merry, Pippin, and Fatty had taken him aside and gently asked him if he remembered Sam from their childhood. His friends, as always, knew how to break something to him in a way that didn’t completely pull the rug out from under him, but the shock had come later anyways. It made sense, of course, why Sam had seemed so familiar from the beginning and why they got along so well, like old friends, but that didn’t stop the pang of guilt Frodo felt because he hadn’t remembered him. Since he’d found out, scraps of memory kept surfacing: blanket forts and hot chocolate, stealing apples from farmer Maggot’s trees one afternoon, a colourful picture drawn by three young boys. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and he felt guilty for not remembering, especially because each one of these memories was tinted rose-gold, like the sunset, in a way that could only mean they were some of the few times he had felt truly comfortable as a young child. He knew that it wasn’t his fault he remembered so little of his childhood, much of it tainted by the death of his parents and the long legal battle for Bilbo to adopt him. He’d been lonely for much of it, especially when he’d lived with the Brandybucks. Merry had been there but it hadn’t changed the fact that he had felt unwanted and invisible in their home with its large rooms and high ceilings and hallways that echoed like they were trying to fill the silence, never succeeding. Things had turned around when Bilbo took him in, but Frodo had been slow to trust and quick to worry. He remembered most of his childhood in vague vignettes, hints of something he must have felt or experienced, but little detail. And yet he felt guilty for not remembering Sam. It didn’t seem right that he should forget something - someone - who filled his days with so much light and joy.  
He was looking out of the window, not really taking anything in, when the bell above the door rang and jerked him out of his thoughts. To his surprise, it wasn’t Sam, but his sister May.

  
“Oh, hello, May! Doesn’t Sam work Mondays?”

  
“Wow, not even trying to hide your disappointment? He does, but he’s feeling a little under the weather. Still hungover, I reckon.” She chuckled.

  
“Oh...well, I hope he feels better soon! I’ll take those from you, if you’d like.” He made to relieve her of the box she was holding, but she deftly swung it out of his way.

  
“Nonsense, Frodo, that’s my job, you do yours.”

  
Defeated, Frodo let his arms fall by his side, suddenly feeling awkward.

  
“Well, can I make you a tea then? Since that’s my job…”

  
“That would be lovely, thank you. I’m sure you know how Sam takes his, I’m the same, just more sugar.” And with that, she began quickly darting around the café, replacing old bouquets and arrangements with the new. May was much like her brother in looks, but her personality was much more direct. It was a little jarring at times, but she was never rude, and Frodo didn’t mind being reprimanded so directly sometimes. Merry and Pippin adored May, as did Pearl, and Frodo understood why. Only, he preferred Sam, and as he was preparing May’s tea he began to wonder if Sam hadn’t shown up because of something Frodo had done. Maybe he’d been too familiar with him Saturday night and Sam hadn’t been comfortable being so close. He shouldn’t have stroked his hair like that, but it had looked so soft. He shouldn’t have kissed his head but he’d looked so peaceful and beautiful and Frodo hadn’t been able to resist. He thought Sam had been asleep, but maybe not. Maybe this was why he didn’t tell Frodo that they’d known each other, because…

  
“Hey, stop worrying. It’s making you look older than old Gandalf.” May pointedly dropped the box in front of him and took the mug of tea from Frodo’s hands.  
“Huh?”

  
“I said, stop worrying. I can hear your brain working from across the room and it’s distracting. What’s got you so worried, anyways?”

  
Frodo felt himself go red under her questioning stare. “Oh, it’s...nothing. It’s nothing.”

  
“Clearly not.” She paused, cocking her head curiously. “Is this about Sam?”

  
“What?”

  
“Sam, is it about him? It’s clear you like him and, well, he can be a bit thick sometimes, not in a bad way, just...oh, he’s just cowardly when it comes to love. Rosie had to ask him out twice and even then he didn’t believe she liked him back.”

  
Frodo stood, unable to answer. “I...I, uh, I don’t...I mean, I like Sam, just not like...like...I…”

  
“I hope you’re joking, or as oblivious as Pippin says you are.”

  
“Pip...what now?”

  
“Says you’re oblivious when it comes to your own feelings.” May said around a mouthful of tea, and Frodo almost didn’t catch what she was saying. He did, though, and doesn’t know how to respond. It was well-known with his friends that Frodo was slow when it came to feelings, and many an acquaintance had gone wrong because he didn’t realise how much he’d liked someone. But Sam...it hadn’t even crossed his mind once, save perhaps in the past couple days, but as May mentioned it the realisation dawned on Frodo, slowly but surely. He felt May examine his face, perhaps coming to the same conclusion as he was: that he was utterly in love with Sam Gamgee, and didn’t even know it.

Frodo let his head fall into his hands.

  
“So you are.”

  
“I...yeah.” He muttered.

  
“Tell him, then. He’s not going to.” May drained her cup, and left before Frodo could formulate a reply.

\---

Their routine didn’t change, exactly. Sam still delivered flowers and Frodo still made him tea and if there was time, they sat and talked. Everything was the same as before, and yet it wasn’t. Sam felt an awkward air underlying each of their interactions, something that hadn’t been there before and made his skin crawl now when he thought about it. It was as if a wall had suddenly gone up between them, hindering their connection that had come so easily before. A week went by like this, Sam and Frodo awkwardly dancing around each other and pretending nothing had changed. Sam was getting tired of it, and he kept losing sleep. Now not because he was imagining some impossible future with Frodo, but because he was trying to figure out what had happened. So far, he had come up with a few options: He weirded Frodo out the night of the house party by being too familiar with him, Frodo simply got tired of him, or Frodo found out about Sam’s more-than-friendship feelings for him and was trying to let Sam down gently. None of the options were good, but not even he could spin a positive on the situation they’ve found themselves in. May and Marigold had reprimanded him several times already for moping around, telling him to either figure it out or let them help, but he didn’t know where to even start explaining why he was acting this way. And so he kept going on like nothing had changed, neither him nor Frodo addressing the elephant in the room.

  
He was having his tea on Tuesday afternoon and going through applications for night classes when his concentration was disturbed by someone sitting down across from him. He knows it wasn’t Frodo because he didn’t work Tuesdays, and he was confirmed when he looked up, faced with Pippin looking at him expectantly.

  
“...Hi?” He wasn’t sure what was going on. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Pippin, but they’ve never talked just the two of them, and he didn’t think Pippin was particularly fond of him. Not because of anything he had said to Sam, but because he seemed to be on such a different level that Sam wasn’t sure he even remembered his name some days.

  
“Hello there, Sam.”

  
“Hello, Mr. Pippin. Can I help you with anything? Is everything alright?”

  
Pippin waved a hand dismissively. “No business talk, Sam, save that for Merry and Frodo. No, I’m here to tell you about our Open Mic night this Friday.” He said, and slid a flyer for said night across to Sam. “And, I want to talk.” He grinned, despite the serious implications such a sentence had to Sam, and most other people.

  
“Oh. Right, okay then. Uh…”

  
“About Frodo.”

  
“About Frodo? Is something wrong?”

  
“No, no. Well...no, not really. Just his usual oblivious self. But he’s been weird this week, and so have you.”

  
“I...have?”

  
“Yes, yes, don’t think I don’t notice. Or Merry. We’re quite observant, you know. You’ve both been weird since last week, and we’ve had to guess why because Frodo is impossible when he’s in such a mood, so Merry said I should talk to you...well, he said he would but I think I’m better suited because I’m more charming and…” He paused, seemingly pondering something. “I don’t know how to say this, really.”

Sam began to grow concerned. Pippin wasn’t making much sense to him, but if this was about Frodo and him, then whatever he wanted to talk about couldn’t be any good. “How to say what, Mr. Pippin.”

  
Pippin sighed frustratedly. “You. And Frodo. You and Frodo and whatever weird thing that you’ve got going on that you both refuse to talk about. That.”

  
“I…I’m not sure I follow.”

“Because you both obviously have feelings for each other but you’re not saying it and now you’re both being weird and we don’t know why!” Pippin threw his hands in the air frustratedly.

  
“I’m...well...I mean, I can’t say I don’t like Mr. Frodo, but…” Sam blushed. This was stupid.

  
“But what?”

  
“But...well, I don’t believe he’d feel the same, even if I did like him that way. I mean, he doesn’t even remember me at all, and both you and Mr. Merry do and...I don’t want to make assumptions, and I’m sure you know him better than I do, but I believe you might be wrong about...his feelings, this time.”

  
“We’re not. We never are.” Pippin countered determinedly, more so than Sam had ever seen him, but then his face softened and he gave Sam a look he couldn’t quite place. Kind, almost as if he was beginning to understand something he didn’t before.

  
“You know...don’t take it too hard that he didn’t remember you at first. Frodo’s childhood...it wasn’t easy. I don’t think he remembers too much, but he’s probably beating himself up right now for not remembering you.”

  
“I don’t know about that, Mr. Pippin.”

  
“You’re making me feel old with that, Sam.” Pippin smiled. “But seriously...I know Frodo and I know how he can be, with these things. He’s not easy but neither am I, neither are you, I’m sure. I doubt he’s even realised yet how he feels about you.”

  
Sam blushed. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

  
“Yeah, you do. You’re smart, Sam, don’t try and play otherwise with me. And…” Pippin paused, suddenly seeming serious, and reached across the table for Sam’s hand. “You know you’re our friend, right?”

  
Sam isn’t easily stunned to silence, but right now he’s finding it difficult to find a reply. A quiet “Huh?” was all that came out, and Pippin smiled warmly at that.

“I thought you might not. You’re our friend, Sam. We like you, we know Frodo likes you, and we want you to be a part of…” He gestured vaguely, Sam wasn’t sure for what. “...of all this. The café, our friendship, Frodo’s life, Frodo’s bed, you know...we just want you to be in our lives beyond just a business partnership. That’s boring, and you’re anything but boring, if Saturday is anything to go by.” Pippin grinned, suddenly back to his old cheerful self, any trace of his seriousness seemingly gone. But it had been there, and Sam gathered that this didn’t happen often, unless something was very dear to Pippin’s heart, which meant that he must be. It was strange, but in a good way.

  
“Thank you, Mr….Thank you, Pippin. That’s very kind of you.”

  
“Anytime, dear Sam. I hope you two work it out, and soon. I can’t deal with Frodo like this much longer.” He smiled and squeezed Sam’s hand. “You should tell him how you feel, when you’re ready.” And with that, he goes back to work, leaving a dumbstruck Sam trying to understand everything that had happened.

\---

The Open Mic night had been Gandalf’s idea. The old man, who had been a regular of Bag End café since its beginnings, and often claimed to have been the one who pushed Bilbo to open a café, had persuaded them that a regular Open Mic night would bring new customers and a fun change to the daily routine. Frodo didn’t disagree per se, but he wasn’t as convinced that it would be a success. He was idly chatting to Gandalf about it the afternoon of the event.

  
“If this flops, I’m personally blaming you, Gandalf.”

  
“I think, my dear Frodo, that this night may have some surprises for you.”

  
“Alright, then, keep your secrets.” Frodo smiled. Gandalf only gave him a knowing look, and continued to sip his wine. Frodo wasn’t sure where he’d gotten it from, since they didn’t sell wine, but he decided not to question the ways of Gandalf. If anything, the Open Mic night would be a lot of fun, if the people who signed up were anything to go by. He highly suspected that Bilbo, who had returned that afternoon, was planning to do a song with Aragorn - an original piece, which meant it was going to be very long and potentially boring, yet still good. Well, good to Frodo, at the very least, but Pippin did often claim he had terrible taste.

  
He turned out to be correct in his assumption about Bilbo and Aragorn, who performed not one, but two songs they had written together. Pippin sang, too, which surprised everyone in the room who wasn’t close with him and didn’t know of his singing talents. There were some people who Frodo knew only in passing who performed some poetry and one played beautifully on their violin, followed by a poem from Gimli which was surprisingly moving and unsurprisingly sappy and about his boyfriend. Comparisons to roses were made several times, but it works. And then, to Frodo’s surprise, Sam stepped up with his sister, who announced she’ll be singing.

  
May had a beautiful voice, and Frodo was sure that somewhere in this room, Pearl Took was melting into a puddle, but he only had eyes and ears for Sam. In the dim light of the late evening and lights Pippin had strung around the café, Sam’s hair looked almost golden, a deep, ancient gold like the afternoon sun. It struck him in that moment that there should never have been any question or doubt about his feelings for Sam: He had fallen in love like he never had before, so quietly he didn’t even notice, and more intensely than he thought was possible. His entire being seemed consumed with it at that moment, watching Sam’s hands move across the strings, his face framed by the light, and Frodo knew he'd never seen anything more beautiful than this. May’s voice drifted slowly through the room, which had fallen completely silent otherwise, and though Frodo didn’t know the song, it moved something deep within him. He was beginning to understand Pearl’s infatuation with May, who seemed just as radiant as Sam when he distantly registered a deep, rich voice joining May’s on the chorus, which could only be Sam accompanying her, and he knew he had never heard anything this beautiful, either. The world seemed to halt, and Frodo couldn’t tear his eyes or thoughts away. If he could have an eternity of this, he thought, he would be content, no matter what else happened. But such wishes cannot be granted, and the Gamgee siblings’ performance was over sooner than Frodo liked, and met with enthusiastic applause. He didn’t stay for that, though, his chest suddenly feeling tight and his senses overwhelmed. He fled quietly out the door, seeking refuge in the cold night air, hoping no one saw him leave.

\---

Sam caught only a glimpse of Frodo leaving hurriedly out the door, but before he could wonder why, he was shoved in the same direction with a knowing look by Merry and Pippin. He stepped out of the door into the cool night air, the evening having passed much quicker than he realised. The sky was clear and dark, save for a few stars shining their light. It seemed to be a new moon. He didn’t have to search long for Frodo, who he found sitting on a low wall near the café.

  
“Hey.”

  
“Hi, Sam.”

  
A silence stretched between the two. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, exactly, but heavy with an expectation that was making Sam’s fingers tingle.

  
“Are you...are you alright?” He sat down next to Frodo, and hesitantly reached out for his hand, before deciding against it.

  
“Yes. Yeah, I’m...I’m good. Just needed some air.” Frodo paused and looked at Sam.

  
“You’re good. And May, of course. I...I didn’t know you did that. I mean, sing. And guitar. And...stuff.” He flailed a hand helplessly, seemingly trying to emphasise some point that he lost, and Sam wanted nothing more than to hold it and reassure Frodo that whatever he was worrying about would pass. For Frodo seemed to be worried, more than Sam had ever seen him.

  
“Oh, well, we just...we’re not, like, professional, or anything, but we used to make music a lot, at home...May just took to it more than us rest, and she wanted someone to accompany her so…”

  
“It’s the most beautiful I’ve ever heard,” Frodo whispered, “I almost didn’t want it to end.”

  
“Almost?”

  
“All things have to end at some point, Sam. Even the good.”

  
“Well, M...Frodo, some good things stay.” He reached out for Frodo’s hand, and squeezed it tight. “Me, for one. I’d like to stay. With you, I mean. If that’s alright, if you want.” He felt clumsy and insecure, his words not quite matching what he was attempting to say, but Frodo seemed to understand. He always did, Sam thought, even when he didn’t know how to say things.

  
“Sam…” Frodo started, then fell silent again.

  
“Yes? What is it?”

  
“Why didn’t you...why...I’m sorry.”

  
“I don’t understand.”

  
Frodo took a deep breath. “For not remembering you.” He said, so quietly Sam had to move closer to hear him.

  
“Oh.”

  
“I...I understand if that’s why, I mean, I understand why you wouldn’t say, I can’t have been good company back then, but still, I’m...I’m sorry. You should be impossible to forget.” He turned towards Sam, sincerity in his eyes, and Sam’s heart almost broke at that.

  
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Frodo. We were young, and you had...other things, to worry about. I didn’t say anything because, well...you know me, now, I mean, you know I’m not the bravest person and…” He blushed.

  
“You’re one of the bravest and kindest people I know, Sam.” Frodo said, and reached for Sam’s chin to turn his face towards him. “I am lucky to have you in my life again.”

  
Quietly, Sam studied Frodo’s face. His dark eyes and the tiny scar at the top of his head, only visible if you were this close to him. A stray curl fell into his face, and Sam instinctively reached out to brush it gently out of his face.

  
“I’d really like to kiss you, if that’s alright.” Frodo said quietly, and Sam’s heart almost stopped, and then grew several sizes. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard right.

  
“Sam?”

  
“Yes. Yes, I mean, I mean, I…”

  
“If you’d have me, that is.”

  
“I want nothing more than you, Frodo. I’ve always wanted you, if you’d have me.” And with that, Sam leant forward and kissed Frodo.

  
It wasn’t fireworks or symphonies. Something simply settled in Sam’s heart, like a puzzle piece that had been lost and finally found in a dark corner, fitted into the picture to complete it. He kissed Frodo and it felt like he’d done this a hundred times before; it felt right and comfortable and like he was always meant to be right here, on a garden wall under a dark night sky, kissing the boy with the blue eyes and holding his hand.

  
And that was where he stayed. Not on the wall, or under the night sky, but holding Frodo’s hand and being held by him in return, as if they were always meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> the story of how i wrote 11k words of Sam/Frodo instead of working on my important coursework  
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jordnhollis) i'm funny sometimes  
> the song May and Sam sing is Midnight Dove by Shawn James  
> tenses are the bane of my existence so if u find mistakes u can tell me but i might cry  
> also i am v nervous posting this because people often have strong characterisation opinions so if u have anything nice to say pls do thank you
> 
> big thank you to: Leonie and Elysia who encouraged my summer of samfrodo, Kiwi the hamster for being my kindred spirit, and Taylor Swift for writing invisible strings


End file.
